Enter the Ranger
by Larner
Summary: How might Aragorn have chosen to return to his parents' people after learning his proper name, lineage, and possible destiny? Perhaps in this manner...
1. Chapter 1

**Enter the Ranger**

Prologue - Words of Hope

"My Lord Halbaleg—the sons of Elrond are newly come."

Halbaleg son of Dírhael looked at the one who'd entered the office where the current Steward of the Northern Dúnedain had been looking over reports of harvests throughout the lands his people inhabited. He'd left word he didn't wish to be interrupted—he hated going through such reports, and found that any interruption tended to distract him sufficiently that he'd not get back to them for many days, if at all. But certainly the coming of Elrond's sons was sufficient reason for those who served within his keep to disregard those instructions.

With a feeling of distinct relief he set the report from the region of Lhûn aside atop the other reports he'd not read as yet, and after placing a block of stone from Annúminas atop them so they shouldn't be caught by any stray drafts and blown about, he headed for the main chamber to the keep, in which he usually met with visitors and those come to consult with him as Steward.

Elladan and Elrohir of Imladris had come amongst the Dúnedain of the Angle rarely enough over the past five years, not since he'd learned that his sister's son had earned the right to ride out with the patrols from Elrond's home by managing to disarm one of the twins during a sparring match. Halbaleg was uncertain as to which of the twins had been so treated by young Estel, as the Elves named him, for neither would say as to which had lost his sword to the young Mortal who lived with them as if he were their younger brother. How he wished he'd been there at the time! How appalled they must have been to see one of them disarmed by the boy! Unconsciously he smiled at the images that the idea raised in his imagination. A great swordsman he'd prove, the son of his sister and her husband. Such a one he should prove as Chieftain of their people!

He found the two tall sons of Elrond standing side by side in the main chamber, each with a cup of wine in hand. He rejoiced that his wife had seen to it that they were offered some refreshment after their long ride from Rivendell.

"My lords, I welcome you again to my home. And how is your esteemed father?"

"He does well, Lord Halbaleg," responded one of them, although he had to admit that, unlike either Arathorn or Gilraen, he'd never learned how to discern which was which. "He sends you word: _Now is the time for the Lost to come forth._ He bids you to gather together those of your people whom you consider most necessary to receive new-found Hope, and have them meet on the eve of the summer solstice atop Amon Sûl. It is time, _Adar_ believes, for Hope to be restored to your people. Indeed, by restoring Hope to the Dúnedain we believe that it shall be restored to all of the Free Peoples of Middle Earth, south as well as north, east as well as west." So saying, he and his brother swallowed down the last of their drinks, and holding out their glasses for their shocked host to accept, they gave profound bows and departed as suddenly and unexpectedly as they'd come.

_Hope, hope to be restored to the Dúnedain? Did that mean…? It **must** mean that—that the boy would be returned to them! But was he ready? Were the Dúnedain ready for the return of Arathorn and Gilraen's son to their lands? Oh, but they must be!_

Clutching the glasses to his chest, Habaleg turned blindly to seek out his wife. She must be the first to know!


	2. Building on the Ruins

_Originally written for B2MEM prompt several years ago._

Building on the Ruins

A gentle breeze brushed the hilltop, combing the ruins as Estel—nay, Estel no longer, now Aragorn son of Arathorn-breasted the crest of Amon Sûl in the wake of his uncle, Elrohir following after. Halbaleg son of Dírhael had served in the stead of the Chieftain of the northern Dúnedain since the death of Arathorn, who, so advised by the Council of Elders, had named the brother of his wife the Steward of Arnor (such as Arnor was in these latter days). Aragorn had seen the Man at least once a year since he and his mother were taken into refuge in the House of Elrond. Now he knew why: Halbaleg and his wife were two of the seven witnesses who knew the truth of the survival of the son of Arathorn and Gilraen, and who would stand for his identity before the rest of the remnant of the people of Elendil, Isildur, and Valandil.

It felt strange, to think of those names as being those of his own first forebears in this land. He had learned them well enough in his childhood lessons of the histories of Middle Earth. But to think of them as having been Men of flesh and bone such as his own, and from whom he himself was descended, and whose responsibilities were now become his own? How was it that the passage of a mere day—the day of his twentieth birthday—had so turned his world upside-down? Oh, he'd known that his _real_ father had been a Man and a Ranger, and one of nobility and responsibility. So he'd been assured by both his _naneth_ and his _adar_ often enough since his earliest years. But since the age of two, his few memories of the Man who'd once swung him confidently up upon his shoulder each time he returned from a patrol had grown vague indeed, and he'd never thought of him as the last Chieftain of the Dúnedain whose name he'd had to learn along with those of all who'd come before him, Chieftains and Kings.

He realized that his party had not been the first to arrive here. Others had been awaiting them, and now Men began to rise from where they'd been sitting in the grass. Nor were all of the tall shapes in the shadows remnants of statues and tumbled walls, he realized. At least four Men and two women had been standing there, leaning on spears or staves, and now for the first time stirred. One of the women at least he recognized—his Aunt Anneth, Halbaleg's wife, who'd come a few times to Imladris to see him, usually for the odd birthday celebration. The other—well, she reminded him of his mother, but older. And the look on her face—was it _hope_?

Aunt Anneth stepped forward, followed by a young Man who appeared near to his own age, his eyes measuring and uncertain as they met Estel's own. A few others also followed Aunt Anneth forward, each of whom he'd seen two or three times over the years. These came to flank him, and turned to face the rest who'd gathered here.

He felt Elrohir's hand upon his shoulder, familiar and comforting. And it was Elrohir's voice that rose to break the silence. "I come this day to return to the descendants of my _adar's muindor_ one of your own. Behold, today we return the one we have ever acknowledged as the Hope of your people as well as our own that the Darkness will once more be defeated. Indeed, such was his name when he dwelt with us as if he were son to our _adar _and our brother indeed, for the child's name bestowed upon him was _Estel_. As has been done with each of the Heirs of Isildur, he has been educated in the histories of Arda, in the ways of policy and judgment, of administration and leadership, in healing and warcraft. You will find him a canny tracker and hunter, and a paragon with sword and dagger. He speaks Westron, Sindarin, Quenya, and Adûnaic fluently, and is already skilled in the sifting of hearts. Five years has he ridden out with our patrols to fight the enemies of the Free Peoples, and he has proved himself well."

An elderly Man who stood by the older woman who resembled his own _naneth_ stepped forward, leaning upon the staff in his hand. "You say that this is my grandson, the son of my daughter Gilraen and her husband Arathorn?" he asked.

"Do you doubt my word, Lord Dírhael?" Elrohir responded.

"We all stand witness for him, Papa," said Uncle Halbaleg. "We agreed with the wisdom of Elladan and Elrohir that the Enemy has sought too assiduously to end the line of the ancient Kings. When he went comatose with the fever and it was believed that he'd died, we let that belief stand, and for his own protection as well as that of our people. It was not only grief at her husband's loss that took your daughter from us and into Elrond's house, you see."

The woman was smiling tremulously. "I certainly see our daughter's expression upon his face, husband! Aye, then I was right, and he was not taken from us forever! Welcome, Aragorn! Welcome home to your own people, Ari."

_Ari._ How familiar that dear-name was, in spite of being spoken to him only infrequently during his youngest years in his _adar's _house. He felt his lip work as he tried to put together long set-aside pieces of his past and history, tried to join them together with what he'd once thought of only as matters of study for study's own sake!

"And what is to be done with him?" demanded a big bear of a Man with the stance of a tried warrior.

Elrohir laughed easily. "Take him and train him well, Baerdion! He has learned all that we can teach him of our ways. Now it is time for your people to do the same.

"Ai—think of it this way: you all stand now in the ruins of Amon Sûl, the Watchtower of the Winds. I remember well when it stood as tall as Elendil built it. Well, this tower can be built anew upon the ruins of Elendil's own works, for his foundations still remain. And so it is for the Northern Dúnedain—Estel here, Aragorn the Valiant, shall become the cornerstone for the rebuilding of Arnor and its honor; and, we hope, will bring together North and South once more. No longer should there be a King with no kingdom here in the north and a kingdom with no King in Gondor."

Considering the weight of uncertainty he saw in so many faces, Aragorn was feeling a most inadequate cornerstone indeed.

Then he realized that the only young Man in the company, the one who'd followed his Aunt Anneth and who must be her son, hers and Uncle Halbaleg's, perceived his uncertainty and was beginning to feel sympathy for him. He turned his attention back to him, and searched his face, those eyes as grey as his own, and suddenly he felt reassured he could indeed find a place among these people. He smiled-

And the youth, obviously surprised, looked back, his mouth first in an _O_ of startlement, then his eyes growing warmer as he began to return that smile.

He felt Elrohir's hand squeeze his shoulder for a moment, and then his brother loosed him. Aragorn swallowed. He was now deemed ready, he realized, to fly on his own. He took a step forward….


End file.
